


secretly we're saviors

by georgialeigh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Prince Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgialeigh/pseuds/georgialeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a special man; Stiles is his savior. Or perhaps it's the other way round?</p>
            </blockquote>





	secretly we're saviors

When news broke across the capital that King John had fallen ill and was on his death bed, people flew to the castle gates to mourn the great, kind, brave king and to grieve for his only living heir - a young bachelor prince, formally Aloysius but preferred to be called Stiles by his subjects, as he couldn’t pronounce his own name as a toddler and his mother, the beloved Queen had thought it sounded nice on the tongue.

Stiles was known for his strength on the battlefield but more often, his generosity and charity amongst those in the grotto around the castle walls, starving for even a scrap of food and whoring themselves out to feed tiny mouths. Stiles was often seen in the company of his guards playing with the little ones at the varying orphanages through the streets or frequenting the small farmers’ markets in the square.

But when the king fell ill, the windows and doors of the castle were barred shut. Stiles was only a meager fifteen - his father’s heart was in no condition, the maesters explained - too much wine in the aftermath of Queen Claudia’s death, not enough time spent sparring with his knights to keep his blood flowing. And so Stiles would take the throne, Stiles would lead his people through negotiations with foreign lands, would have to face the challenges against his boundaries from those in all directions. He knows he can trust those in the north - his faithful army grows and trains in the harsh winters and dense forests there. They are loyal to his father.

Derek watches all of this unravel from the safety of the farm his family owns and operates on the outskirts of the capital, a rich piece of land, successful year after year in growing crops and breaking horses for the king’s guard and once for the king himself on a hunt.

His mother is of noble birth, but married his father from her heart and therefore gave up her rights to inherit her family’s land. Instead, she and his father worked for every foot of land they ploughed daily, hands rough with years of work but smile lines around their eyes from decades of happiness together. Derek wants that with his future spouse. He sees the similarity with his older sister, Laura, and her husband Brandon. Sometimes he catches Isaac, the farmhand, and Cora stealing flirtatious glances at one another in passing, too nervous to approach one another.

Derek is… special. He’s not one of a kind - but he is rare, as far as men go. He had been an early bloomer - just past eleven years old when he started having… urges, which the folk maester explained were in fact miniature heats, spurred on by those around him who were particularly fertile. Derek is a breeder - could carry the child of another man, is meant to carry the child for another man, in fact. 

He is lucky he lives in a forward thinking city such as the capital. He’s heard of smaller hamlets in the south and west who would hang a man with his abilities - call him a monster, a beast, a freak of nature. 

There have been whispers that Stiles prefers the company of men as opposed to the fair-skinned, raven-haired maiden who sought his betrothal a previous spring, or the bright-eyed, dimpled daughter of a northern hunter.

Derek is skeptical. Surely Stiles would rather continue the line of his throne with a beautiful young woman, perhaps someone like Cora or Erica, their milk maid.

It takes almost a year after King John passes for Stiles to fully resume his social duties to the capital. It starts slowly - he welcomes a few orphans into the grand halls of the castle to brighten his otherwise dismal and dark mornings. He takes dinner meetings with those in his guard, is seen coming and going from the apothecaries in the witch alleys, perhaps an antidote for insomnia.

One of the squires for the king’s hand comes to the Hale property to purchase a horse for the king, who seeks to take a tour of the eastern coast. Derek leads the man - his dimples are quite a sight, and his laugh the most jovial he’s ever heard, and Derek is suspicious of how bushy and soft his hair appears - and eventually the hand, Scott of House McCall, chooses a beautiful black mare that Derek had named Claudia, in honor of Stiles’ mother, the queen, upon her birth.

“The king requests a representative of your family at dinner tonight. He sees it only reasonable as thanks,” Scott tells Talia and Robert that night.

“Derek,” Talia turns to her oldest son. “You’ll go with the hand.”

Derek doesn’t see it fit to argue with his mother. She always has a mischievous gleam in her eye when daydreaming of her son marrying into royalty - not malicious in intent, but perhaps having a certain sense of knowing what is best for her baby boy.

When they go through the castle gates, Derek is at first appalled by the beauty of the gardens - flowers of every color and trees higher than the roof of his family’s home. There are exotic birds as well, and ladies in silk gowns and men with patterned handkerchiefs, a luxury item that no Hale has ever afforded.

Derek waits to the side while Scott speaks with a hand maiden.

“The king sees it fit that you should be dressed appropriately for the occassion,” Scott explains as she pulls Derek by his cuff toward the castle.

What seems like hours later, Derek feels as though his skin has been scrubbed raw, and he doesn’t like the short cut of his once comfortably soft beard. He smells of flowers and oils now, thanks to the bath, and the clothes that have been sewn at lightning speed fit him just a smidge tightly across his broad, strong shoulders and tight glutes.

There are many other men and women in the great hall before the young king makes his appearance. Derek is self conscious, worried that someone might pick up on his special gift. He’s had to hide it for ten years now - should have married and taken his own land by now, but… well, he is only fit for another man, and another man wouldn’t want Derek.

He sees the looks of the maidens in Stiles’ service - pretty young things, and Derek knows what he looks like - knows his cheekbones and soft lips and pale green eyes are objectively handsome.

He is not prepared for the sight of the young king before him - about to turn seventeen - his wide brown eyes, moles dotting his perfect pale skin, chestnut brown hair tousled atop his head where the thin gold crown lays upon him. His smile could light a thousand great halls it is so blindingly bright, and his fingers - Derek nearly moans as the sight of them as Stiles greets his guests and thanks them for coming. 

Derek can hardly keep his eyes off of Stiles as he makes his way around the room, shaking hands with guests. He feels someone sidle up beside him, glances and sees the king’s hand, Scott, in dress robes quite similar to his own.

“Ah, my hand!” Stiles jokes as he turns to face them. “I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance…” He squints his eyes, a small smirk playing upon his lips.

“This is Derek Hale, he…”

“Ah, yes! My father’s favorite horse came from your stables, kind sir,” he grins. “What is it that you and your wife feed them?” Derek chokes a bit.

“It’s… I don’t have a wife. It’s my parents’ land. They’ve sent me in their stead… I hope it is not too much an imposition or…”

Stiles waves his hand as if this is a ridiculous thought.

“Pleasure to have met you, Derek,” the king smiles. His eyes stay locked with Derek’s despite that it seemed he might walk away. “Might you sit with me at dinner this evening?”

“I’d be honored,” Derek splutters, nearly chokes. He realizes he’s forgotten to breathe for at least a few seconds. Scott claps him on the shoulder good-naturedly.

Stiles saunters away to greet another guest, and Derek gives Scott a meek look. Scott smiles and says an encouraging word or two, and leaves him to seek the company of another young woman.

\- - -  
Derek finds his seat when the bell chimes for the first course. Stiles sits last and thanks the gods for their good fortune this harvest, and they all dig into the ripe vegetables and fruits on their beautiful plates.

“Tell me, my good sir, how old are you?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious.

“I’ve just turned twenty-one,” he admits.

“Have you had a wife already and she has passed?” Stiles asks meekly.

“No, nothing like that, thank the Gods. I haven’t yet… found a suitor,” he shrugs simply.

“This can’t be true,” the king seems genuinely shocked. “I’ve heard the maidens clucking of your masculine beauty.”

“I’ve got my reasons,” Derek stutters out. 

“We bachelors shall stick together, then,” Stiles gives him a conspiratorial wink and Derek smiles, feeling a weight lift from his chest. It isn’t until they’re through the delicious venison that Derek feels the tingling begin in the tips of his fingers. He glances around, wondering who it is that’s setting off his heat. Nearly everyone at the table is paired off, and Derek’s senses have keened to the point where he won’t react to those spoken for. It’s then that he realizes - Stiles, a bit drunk to his right, babbling happily to Scott and his date, Lady Allison of House Argent. It suddenly feels stifling under his collar. The wine must be stirring in Stiles’ loins for Derek to be reacting in this way. He wonders if anyone would notice if he took his leave early. But then Stiles turns the conversation to Derek - asks him of his horses, of his other crops, of his family - genuinely interested and happy to talk to someone he’s never met before. This isn’t a political dinner - simply a night for the king to enjoy himself amongst his people. Derek takes deep gulps of wine and water and fights through the urge to kneel between Stiles’ legs, mouth open and ready.

The cake comes around as Derek nearly reaches for Stiles’ hand on the table, and he wipes his napkin across his brow.

“Unwell?” Stiles asks, concern lacing his voice.

“A bit hot,” Derek chokes.

“Tis a bit warm,” Stiles concedes. “Come, let us get air in the gardens while the others enjoy cake and ale.”

He stands and takes Derek’s hand and leads him to the moon garden. Derek’s panic subsides noticeably when his palm touches Stiles’.  
They walk for a moment among the lilacs and roses, and Derek can’t take it anymore.

“I’ve a confession,” Derek whispers.

“Haven’t we all?” Stiles smiles.

“I am… unlike other men,” Derek says softly, taking a seat upon a marble bench. 

“This is obvious,” Stiles agrees, sitting beside him.

“I mean in a… more serious manner, I’m afraid,” he feels like he might cry, might combust if Stiles leaves him there, practically leaking into his underclothes, straining to be freed, to be taken by a man as beautiful and powerful and fertile as Stiles. “I carry children of men.”

Stiles takes in a little breath, shocked, it seems, but his face remains passive. Derek keeps his eyes averted though, not wishing to see the dawn of realization fully hit him, a look of horror surely will sweep across his perfect features, crinkling his beautifully upturned nose, a grimace across his beautiful pink lips.

“A breeder, then,” Stiles says slowly. “Hm. I’ll admit, I feel daft for having missed the signs,” he chuckles. “I understand that my… singularity must be difficult for you to handle.”

“It is not a feeling which I am used to, with most of my family’s customers being older men or too young boys,” Derek admits.

“Have your parents sent you here to court the nubile king, then?” Stiles says with a hint of bitterness. Derek’s head snaps up.

“Of course not,” he bites out. “My parents are not calculating or…” Stiles puts a hand up.

“My father was very fond of your family. Your Uncle Peter was one of his most fierce knights. I apologize for my tactless tongue.”

Derek nods shortly, lowers his gaze.

“I should only be so fortunate to be in the interest of one so handsome and strong as yourself,” Stiles mutters, and Derek feels a hot blush rise to his cheeks. He wants to tell Stiles to stop - that it isn’t kind to tease someone in his condition, but he bites his tongue.

“I am not so special,” Derek shrugs.

“On the contrary,” Stiles sighs at the sky. “My parents would have loved you, I think.”

They sit together a moment longer before Scott comes to collect them, apparently having kept a quiet watch from a safe distance for fear of intruders. Stiles’ kingship has not been without difficulties and assassination attempts.

Derek stays not much longer after that - Stiles begs off to his chambers alone. Scott tells him the clothes are a gift.

\- - -

It is several months later when Derek is returning from a trip to the market with milk and butter - a quick errand his mother sent him on, to rid the otherwise cheerful house of his sulking over rejection of the king.

And his home is in flames.

They’re not the kind of flames that can be put out easily - the thatched roof is burning high, black smoke in thick columns in the air. There are men with buckets attempting to do their best, but the damage is done. Derek collapses at the fence line, watches his home burn, hoping to the heavens that his family has escaped.

If only he were so fortunate.

\- - -

Isaac and Erica were able to release the horses. But Cora rushed in to get her parents and a beam must have blocked their exit, Erica reasons, because they never came out. The little ones - the twins, Robert the second and Edmond, perished as well, napping in the second story bedroom.

Derek is alone in the world. He is the first born son - and therefore the land is left to him by the courts. He isn’t in any debt - but with the crops burnt and nowhere to house his horses, he is lost.

He is working late one evening at piling up the burnt wood away from the house, hopefully he can hire a carriage for a day and take it into the woods to desiccate there, when he hears the hooves of three horses on the road leading to the house. He turns and recognizes Claudia - the black mare he’d broken himself, raised since she was a calf - and then of course, Stiles atop the horse, and Scott, his hand at his side on a brown stallion, holding the reins of a third horse, also brown.

\- - -

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek as if he is a brother or close friend - and Derek weeps openly for the first time since the fire. His grief consumes him, and all Stiles can say is, “I know, I’m sorry, I know.”

Scott is heard audibly sniffling, which perks Derek’s spirits, and together the three men leave for the castle.

Maids have set up quarters for Derek’s room. Stiles has given him a new position - second hand, as Scott will be leading new recruits to the king’s army to the north, where he will marry Lady Allison.

Scott assures Derek that the duties are simple enough. Stiles has a smart head upon his shoulders and won’t require too much from his second hand.

Derek is given quarters very near to Stiles’ royal apartment. He has his own kitchen and the biggest feather bed he’s ever seen, as well as a beautiful mahogany desk that he weeps over because his father had dreamt of someday buying a piece of wood such as this to carve a table into for his wife.

Stiles is supportive and talkative and a shoulder to cry on even in the darker hours of night. Derek lets Stiles cry, too, lets his king weep his sorrows. Summer turns to winter and Scott writes to announce Allison’s pregnancy - he will be longer in the north than expected. Stiles gives Scott lordship over the land in the north that he holds control over as a gift, and awards Derek with Scott’s previous position as hand of the king.

Derek thinks perhaps his heat for Stiles was a fluke - or perhaps Stiles has taken a lover unbeknownst to Derek (seems unlikely, as they are together all waking hours and even a moment or two asleep).

The maester visits Derek around the feast of Kings - nearly the dead of winter, all leaves fallen from the trees and crops dead in the soil - and informs Derek that it would seem his grief has put his heats at bay. Once he has healed, he will likely react accordingly again. He heeds a warning that if Derek doesn’t take a partner soon and give birth, he may perhaps lose his urges altogether. 

“A gift from the gods is never wisely wasted,” the surly old man says, and Derek sighs.


End file.
